


The (Un)Lucky Ones

by sxperwolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Drug Use, High School AU, I'll probably just update this as I go, M/M, alcohol use, hella gay, looks like I'm trying to fit in the entire cast here woah, plus some college stuff nice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:06:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7090867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxperwolf/pseuds/sxperwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'"It's not a great story," he says. "This one guy - he fucks up a lot. Bad things happen. But there are good moments, and I think that's what matters."</p><p>They're all listening now, Dean notices. Because they have all slowly realised that his story is real, and it's going to hurt.</p><p>"It's kind of about two guys," he begins. "To make things easier, we'll just call one of them Dean. And the other guy - well, he was Cas."'</p><p>In which Dean participates in a drunken game of Truth Or Dare the night he graduates from college, and accidentally spills the whole goddamn story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

The first thing Jo says when they arrive at Meg's place is, "Rolling up to the crib with the crew in the BAMF mobile."

It is, at that moment, Dean realises that this is a bad idea. But he's Dean Winchester, and bad ideas are the only ones he's got.

"Joanna Beth," he says warningly, "I swear to God, _I will turn this car around_." Jo snorts.

"Alright, Mom," Victor huffs, as he steps out from the car. "Can we go inside _before_  you turn forty?" Dean mutters something unintelligible, but clambers out of the car to follow Victor, Jo in pursuit.

As they're making their way to the front door of Meg's house, Dean wonders absently what it would be like to he forty. Seeing as he's not too far off it; he's twenty three now. Huh. When did that happen? Twenty three, and he's just graduated from college, alongside Jo and Victor, so they're celebrating at Meg's place.

Dean isn't exactly buddies with Meg. In fact, he doesn't think he spoke to her at all this year. But he has a vague feeling that he has some kind of connection with her, like something happened to him once, and she was involved. Although he can't exactly remember what, so he's assuming he was drunk when it happened (if it did). Anyway, he isn't one to say no to free booze and a relatively good time, so here he is.

It seems the party is already in full flow. There is shitty music playing extremely loud, he can smell burning, and someone is vomiting out the window. The sun has barely set. Dean doesn't think this is going to end well. 

"I fear too early; for my mind misgives," he says solemnly, "Some consequence yet hanging in the stars  
Shall - "

"Oh, shut up," Jo says with a laugh.

He isn't entirely joking, but he shuts up anyway.

The three stride up the worn stone steps that lead to the front door, which has been left ajar, and step inside.

Almost immediately they are surrounded. A crowd of girls appear and begin to scream unnecessarily when they spot Jo. As she is swarmed by all her giggling girlfriends, Dean and Victor make a hasty escape.

They weave their way through the thick crowd until they spot their friends huddled in the far corner of the living room. The room is dark, lit dimly by the single lamp flickering next to his friends. Dean is pleased to see that the whole gang has assembled; some he may not see again after tonight, and so he is determined to spend one last memorable night with them all. He's known most of them since high school, and he'll never admit it, but he hates the idea of losing them after tonight.

Benny spots them first. He smiles and waves them over, almost hitting Charlie in the process. She doesn't appear to mind.

Benny and Charlie are probably Dean's favourite people after the other two idiots he came with. Benny is awesome because, as Jo puts it, he is "so chill." Dean can't help but agree; Benny is a very relaxed, down-to-earth sort of guy, and is generally liked by everyone. Charlie, meanwhile, is loved by everyone. She is a literal ray of sunshine, and it is impossible to dislike someone as joyful and sweet as her. She's probably the most intelligent person Dean knows (except maybe Sammy), yet when it comes to everyday life, she is adorably clueless.

Once Dean and Victor reach them, Charlie immediately launches herself upon Dean. She buries her face in his shoulder, and after a moment he realises that she is sobbing uncontrollably into the fabric of his shirt. Dean glances questioningly at Benny, who mouths "one drink." Dean pats her back consolingly.

After a minute she surfaces. Her face and eyes are almost the red of her hair. "Dean," she says weakly. "Oh, Dean, you douche. You promise we'll still be best friends even though we left college? You're so pretty Dean, I can't lose you. Remember when you helped me flirt with that girl - "

"Of course we'll still be friends," Dean interrupts loudly, as Victor stares at him curiously. "You and me, Charlie, we'll be LARPing until we're 83."

She seems satisfied with that, so she steps back. Dean would tease her about being an extreme lightweight, but. It's Charlie.

Jo reappears then, looking distinctively ruffled, but otherwise alright. Almost immediately she vanishes again, with the intention of getting drunks. Victor yells after her, "Avoid the punch, I repeat, avoid the punch at all costs!"

"So," Benny says, "any plans for the night, brother?" Dean shrugs. "Well, I'm here," he says, raising his eyebrows. "What else am I gonna do?" Benny rolls his eyes.

"You know what I mean," he huffs. "You've been here all 30 seconds and Lisa Braeden's already undressing you with her eyes." Dean glances over at Lisa Braeden, and she is indeed staring.  She quickly turns when she notices them looking, but not fast enough to hide the crimson blush staining her cheeks.

"And?" Dean says drily. "It's a common occurrence, Benjamin, really. I can't help my dashing good looks."

Benny sighs. "Of course, I'm sorry," he drawls. "Should have taken that into consideration. But, c'mon Dean. You telling me you wouldn't tap that? Man, 'bout twelve people already tried hooking up with her, and she ain't moving. S'like she's waiting for someone." He widens his eyes suggestively.

"And?" Dean repeats. "That someone isn't me."

Benny frowns. "You ain't one to turn down a good time, Dean. You, of all people."

Dean gasps dramatically. "I am more than the common slut, Benny," he retorts. "I just - don't want to, okay? Don't feel like it."

"When's the last time you had a bit of fun, Dean?" Benny says, so quietly that Dean leans closer to hear him over the din of music and people yelling. But he hears.

"She's more than just 'a bit of fun'," Dean snaps. "Stop objectifying her, Benny, she's a person, not just a 'good time'. I just don't want to, okay? Jesus."

"You know that's not what I meant," Benny says gently. "Man, Jo told me, but I didn't believe her. Didn't know it was like that. I didn't know you had it that bad, brother. I'm sorry, Dean." And with that, he turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment all Dean can think is: _What the actual fuck_.

"If you're going to say something with the intention of said something to be deep and meaningful, Benny," he mutters to himself after a minute, "maybe clarify what the fuck you're actually talking about first?"

Victor seems to have zoned out for the exchange between Dean and Benny, and Charlie is slumped against the wall singing to herself. Right.

Victor chooses this moment to return to earth. "Oh, God," he says suddenly, staring at something behind Dean. Dean swivels to see what is bothering Victor, and spots one Bela Talbot on the opposite side of the room, looking radiant. Dean smirks.

"My, my," he grins. "Is that Miss Talbot? Rumour has it she has your virginity in her possession, Victor. Better go and get that back."

Victor scowls at Dean before stalking off into the crowd. Dean blinks.

"It was a joke!" He yells after him. "What's up with _him_ today?"

"Great," he says to himself (second time he's done that in five minutes - definitely losing it). "I've managed to piss off, like, everyone I know here. I have about two friends now."

He glances around at the people milling around him. He doesn't recognise anyone.

"This party sucks ass," he says loudly.

"True, that," Charlie mumbles from somewhere on the ground.

  
* * * * * * *

  
The party continues to suck ass some three and a half hours later. The only person who will probably want to talk to him is Jo, and he hasn't seen her since she disappeared all those hours ago to get drinks. Charlie doesn't count right now; Dean thinks she's asleep, although she is humming. But she hasn't moved in quite some time, so.

Victor and Benny, it seems, are both avoiding him for _literally no reason at all_. Lisa Braeden has yet to stop staring at him like she's about physically rip his clothes off in front of everyone, and her little group of friends look like they wouldn't say no to watching. Of course, they're all undeniably, incredibly hot, but slightly terrifying. He's happy with watching from a distance.

And so, that leaves him with joining Garth Fitzgerald and some girl in the corner talk about sock puppets. He's not even drunk.

 _Looks like I'm on my own_ , Dean thinks.

He's not one to feel sorry for himself, no. But this is definitely not how he expected to spend his last night with his friends. They just graduated from college, for crying out loud; Dean thought that maybe they would go out with a bang. The last party he went to was at Christmas, and he woke up the next morning on the steps of the local church wearing a hot pink miniskirt, with a dick scrawled on his forehead and 'dick-eater 2000' written on his forearm in permanent marker.

He was a local legend for weeks after.

But this was probably going to be his last night with everybody. He had hoped that at this party, he would perform a feat so astounding, a statue of him would be erected in his honour outside the town hall.

"I'll be damned if I don't get that statue," he says aloud. He's a little bit drunk, of course, but he doesn't even realise it. He's just been drinking whatever he can find, plastic cups filled to the brim with weird blue shit he whisked off the living room table without a second thought. 

Just as he's about to head in what he believes is the direction of the kitchen, Jo reappears. Her blonde hair is ruffled, but she looks unharmed. Or so Dean assumes; it's grown too dark to see clearly. He wonders absently what the carpet looks like. It's been bothering him all night that he doesn't know.

"Hey!" Jo giggles. Weird. Jo doesn't giggle. She smells like weed.

"I've been looking for you, Dean!" She says, raising her voice to be heard over the music and other people's yelling. "Could've fooled me!" He shouts in reply, but either she doesn't hear him or she doesn't care, because she just smiles slightly.

Instead, she grabs his wrist and attempts to yank him from the room. "C'mon!" She says. "We're going playing 'Truth Or Dare', everybody's waiting." With a sigh, Dean consents, and allows himself to be dragged down the narrow hall. He can't help but think this is how every bad horror movie ever starts.

She pulls him into what he can only presume is Meg's bedroom, because it's dark in here, too. Dean's friends are kneeling amongst various items of clothing strewn on the floor. In the centre of their little friendship circle is several bottles of assorted alcoholic drinks, plus enough shot glasses for everyone. So Jo wasn't joking about the lame party game, then.

Sitting in front of him is Victor, Benny, Bela, their host, Meg Masters (whom who hasn't seen until know), Charlie (who seems to have sobered ever so slightly - she's drinking apple juice from a purple cup), Garth and his sock puppet friend, Dean's other friends, Adam Milligan and Chuck Shurley, plus Ruby Doe, one of Lisa's friends. The latter is nowhere to be seen, so Dean assumes that she has sent Ruby in order to spy on him. Nice.

They greet Dean cheerily, insisting they had been looking for him. He points out that Meg's house isn't exactly 'the White House, for fuck sake, I was in the next room,' but he doesn't really mind anymore.

"Right, the rules are simple," Jo says, as she settles in between Meg and Bela. "I'm sure you all know how to play. If you refuse to do the dare, or you're too pussy to tell us something we have so politely asked you to spill, you take a shot. The general aim of this game is to prove who's bat-shit crazy. My bet is on Dean." She turns to wink at him. He rolls his eyes, before lowering himself to the ground and sitting next to Victor. Victor flashes him a small smile, which Dean can only accept as an apology for his being a douche earlier.

They single out the weak ones first.

"Garth," Ruby says, with a sultry smile. "Truth or dare?" Garth pales visibly. He's fucked either way.

"Um... Truth?"

Ruby smirks. "Alright. If you had to, which of the guys here would you bottom for?" The air is filled with laughter and whistles. Of course, there is only one obvious answer, and they all know it. Almost everyone wants to bang Dean.

Garth glances uncertainly at Dean, who smiles delightedly. "No need to be ashamed Garth," he says smoothly. "They've all been here." It's true, too; they have played Truth Or Dare countless times, and this question is a recurring one.

"Alright," Garth says, allowing himself a slight smile. "Dean." Dean grins smugly, and there is a smattering of applause.

Dean is first to dare choose dare. "Dean," Bela practically purrs in her British accent, "I dare you to give a hickey to any male present." Dean raises an eyebrow.

"You girls," he says exasperatedly.  
"What is with you and making everything gay? You know this won't bother me at all, right? I'm legit, like, kinda _totally_ gay."

"Same," says Charlie.

"Dean is so gay he forgets that he's actually bisexual," Jo says, with a roll of her eyes.

"How could I forget," Dean says with a grin, "when I am in the presence of such ravishing young ladies?" He winks flirtatiously at Ruby, who blushes crimson, and averts her gaze.

"I'm hella gay though."

There is a chorus of sighs.

"Okay, okay," he says, raising his arms in defeat. "I do like the occasional female, I just have a preference for dudes, okay? It's just - a lot less drama. Less screaming - "

"There is a line," Bela interrupts loudly, "and you have galloped over it. The dare, if you don't mind, darling. Believe me, we do _not_ want to hear about your many sexual escapades."

With a shrug, Dean obliges, and turns to Victor. He accepts his fate, mostly because he had expected it.

"Sorry, dude," Dean says apologetically. "For one, I've known you since kindergarten, so this is in no way sexual. That would be weird. And two, you're closest. I don't feel like walking."

Victor pulls down the collar of his shirt to reveal his neck and upper chest. Dean shuffles closer, and after a moment of hesitation, he leans down and latches on.

Victor isn't uncomfortable about the fact that his best friend of many years is currently attached to his neck; no, it's just that he thinks Dean is actually trying to _eat his neck_.

When Dean finally pulls away, it's to find the majority of the group staring quite jealousy at Victor. He's just relieved that his skin is intact.

As the game progresses, Dean is forced to only take two shots; once, when Charlie dares him to try and fit Adam's entire foot in his mouth (Dicks? No problem, bring 'em all in. But feet? Nuh uh. He can barely look at his own when putting on socks). The second time was when Benny dared him to drink toilet water. Benny doesn't know there is an actual line that you can cross.

But Dean was already tipsy before the game. That's kind of going to be a problem.

They decide to round up the game after one last turn. Just his luck. If they has ended it earlier, disaster would have been avoided.

"Okay, Victor," Jo says tiredly. "Truth Or Dare, you dickface?" Victor considers the question for a moment, before saying, "Dare."

"Ugh," Jo groans, rubbing her eyes. "I'm too stoned for this. Why didn't you pick truth? I could have asked you something easy, like if you've ever jerked off at the thought of Dean going down on you, or something."

Victor looks faintly disgusted. Dean winks at him.

"I'm sure everyone here has fantasised about something of the sort," he drawls. Those nearest him flip him off in unison, and he thinks it's beautiful.

"Alright, alright," Jo sighs. "Victor, I dare you to tell us a story about whatever the fuck you want, I don't care."

After a moment she adds, "Not that one about your dick, though. That's too short."

There is a chorus of wolf whistles and laughter, and Victor buries his face in his hands.

"Actually," Bela says smoothly, "I have to disagree."

Victor is engulfed almost instantly; the whole group swarms upon him, cheering and laughing and, in Deans case, crying with pride.

Once everyone has settled down and Victor is visible once more, they continue with the game.

"So, Vic," Jo says with a smirk. She seems to be enjoying the game a lot more now. "Tell us your story, you naughty boy." Victor rolls his eyes, but before he can utter a single word, he is interrupted.

"Ooh, I have a story!"

Dean glances up. It is a moment before he recognises her as the girl conversing with Garth about socks earlier. It seems like everybody else recognises her too, for there is a chorus of grumbles and mutters of, "Who invited Becky?"

"It's about these two brothers," Becky begins excitedly, "and they -"

"Wait."

It's Meg. She has been oddly subdued all night, Dean thinks, and this is the first word she's uttered in quite some time.

"Who are you?" She asks, addressing Becky. Becky flushes red, and glances helplessly at the boy kneeling opposite her, Chuck. Dean is pleased to see Chuck; they took Lit classes together, and Dean thinks he's awesome. In most people's standards, Chuck is an antisocial nerd, but Dean thinks fuck most people because Chuck is great.

"My girlfriend?" Chuck says quietly, as if he isn't so sure himself. But Meg just lies back on the ground with a short nod. "Good for you, Chuckie," she drawls. "That's great. At least someone here is getting laid."

Dean highly doubts that, but hey. Who knows.

"Continue with your story," Meg says after a moment.

Victor frowns at the ceiling. "I can't actually think of a good one," he admits. "Alright," Jo says, clapping her hands together. "Your stories are likely to be shit, anyway. Time to - "

"I have a story," Dean said quietly.

They all turn to look at him expectantly. It's unusual to hear Dean sound so serious, that they all assume he must be smashed. But he looks calm, his hands are steady, and so are his words.

"It's - a true story," he continues. "Somebody told me this once, and I - I think about it all the time. I never told anyone, and neither did they, but, well - why not?" He pauses for a moment, and glances at Jo. Suddenly, she seems to realised what he's about to do. She doesn't say anything, but her eyes do.

"It starts kind of like this one," he says, gesturing vaguely around the room. "At a party." He glances around, and his eyes find Meg's, and suddenly he remembers. The connection.

"It's not a great story," he says. "This one guy - he fucks up a lot. Bad things happen. But there are good moments, and I think that's what matters."

They're all listening now, Dean notices. Because they have all slowly realised that his story is _real_ , and it's going to hurt.

"It's kind of about two guys," he begins. "To make things easier, we'll just call one of them Dean. And the other guy - well, he was Cas."


	2. In Which They Promise Not To Forget.

It all begins with summer. The first day of the holidays. And Jo.

Again.

She's sitting on her bed, while Victor lounges on the floor. Dean is slumped against the wall, fiddling with his phone.

They're seventeen, and three whole months of freedom stretch before them. They plan to spend their days doing nothing and then regretting it later. They do it every year.

"Meg's party is tonight," Jo pipes up after a few minutes silence. "Her parents are gone again, so she has the house to herself."

Dean frowns. "Why can't she just, like, raid the fridge or something? That's what normal people do when they're home alone."

Jo throws her shoe at him.

"It's summer, my friend," she says, with an air of superiority. "Time to celebrate our short-lived freedom. And time to revel in our new found maturity. We're seniors now. Well, we will be."

"I don't think getting drunk when you're underage counts as being mature," Victor supplies helpfully. "Thank you, Senpai," Jo frowns. "Can't back out now, anyway. You both promised you'd come."

"Did not!" Dean says.

"Did to," Jo counters.

"Did not."

"Did _to_."

"Fuck _you_."

"That's true," Jo says with a shrug. "So, you'll come?"

Dean sighs.

"Brilliant!" She smiles, clasping her hands together. "Everybody will be there, anyway, you couldn't miss it."

"Oh trust me," Dean mutters, "I could."

"The new guy is going, I think," Victor says suddenly. "Good for you," Dean replies. Then:

"Wait, what new guy?"

"He moved in to the house next to mine," Victor explains, rolling on to his stomach. "Maybe if you, you know, went outside some time, Dean, you'd know. He's starting in our school next year, him and his, like, 30 siblings. My dad met his mom, and, well. You know him. He likes to snoop. Man, he's got dirt on the new people already. Anyway, apparently New Guy caused so much chaos in their last school they had to _leave the town_. Good shit, man. I wonder what he did."

"Caseel!" Jo yells abruptly. "Yeah, Meg told me about him! Said she asked him so he could get to know everyone a bit before school. Ha. She said she just wants to screw him. Quite the dish, apparently."

"Meg's been through the entire kitchen cabinet," Dean scoffs. "There physically isn't room for anymore dishes. Poor New Guy."

"Poor New Guy," they say in unison.

"Poor, Hot New Guy," Jo adds. "Must be difficult being attractive in this neighbourhood. With people like Meg constantly prowling around the boundaries, it's not safe."

"It's difficult, all right," Dean says solemnly.

* * * * * * *

Dean has never been to Meg's house before. Honestly, he never though an opportunity would arise where he had to, but here he is. It kind of looks... Exactly like his house. At least, the exterior does. Perks of living along the same street.

Of course, Dean still drives there. Because he wants to show off his car. Not because he's lazy, or anything. No. He just has an awesome car. A 1967 Chevrolet Impala, his pride and joy.

Night is falling, and it seems like most people are here already. Some are milling on the immaculate front lawn, while others are perched on the stone steps leading to the front door.

Dean can tell they're all making their best attempt to remain as quiet as they possibly can, without being boring. They'll all be in deep shit if the cops are called to discover that all of the partygoers are underage. Of course, in this neighbourhood, they all know each other, and no one is willing to get them all in trouble. But if the music is turned up past a certain degree, they know that the Old Bitch four houses down won't hesitate to complain. Bitch.

The door is ajar, so they head inside, stepping over the people slumped on the steps.

The hallway is lit dimly by a standing lamp next to the door. Someone has draped a spotted scarf over it, to soften the light. They push pash the people converged by the door, and continue on to the living room in effort to find their friends.

The first person they spot is Adam. He's leaning against the fireplace talking to Andy Gallagher. He sits in front of Dean in history class, although Dean doesn't know him all that well.

Adam glances over and notices them standing by the doorway. He beckons them over, so they push their way through the crowd to reach him and Andy.

"Hey!" Adam greets warmly. "You all know Andy, right?" Andy inclines his head slightly and flashes them a small smile, which they return.

"Any plans for the summer, Andy?" Jo asks brightly. One could argue she is just being friendly, but Jo doesn't work like that. It is a hobby of hers to try and reel in as much men as she can, just to reject them. She thinks it's hilarious. Dean thinks it's unfair. Poor dudes.

She bats her eyelashes, and smiles shyly, and Andy is a goner.

"Um, n - no," he stammers. "Just... You know."

Dean sighs, and Jo winks at him before turning her attention back to Andy. In the space of a few moments, he is reduced to a stuttering mess. Even if he doesn't approve, Dean can't deny that Jo has some special powers.

Dean, Victor and Adam decide to leave her to work, and make their way to the kitchen to get drinks. Here they find Meg and Bela, standing by the sink and conversing in low voices. When they see the three boys, they stop immediately.

Bela eyes Victor appreciatively, and gives him the once-over. As Victor blushes and mutters out an incoherent greeting, Dean thinks that he and Andy should start a 'Oh-look-an-attractive-female-what-do-I-do' club. Of course, Dean is skilled in the apartment of chatting up people, guys and girls alike, so he could just laugh at them while they flounder.

"Well, hello there," Meg smirks as they make their way over. "Fancy seeing you here."

"We were invited," Adam says shortly. "Mystery solved."

Meg's smirk widens as she looks Adam up and down. "Alright, settle down, Megatron," Dean says tiredly. "Can I at least get drunk _before_ you start hitting on Milligan? That isn't something I want to witness sober."

Meg rolls her eyes but points him in the direction of the drinks. He smiles before sauntering over to the counter where the alcohol is lined out.

He vaguely remembers Victor telling him to 'stay away from the punch', but Dean likes to live dangerously. He ladles some of the bright pink liquid into a plastic cup and downs it in one, shuddering slightly.

The night takes off from there.

Several cups of punch later, he's dancing with Charlie Bradbury on the kitchen island. She appeared some time ago, seemingly from nowhere, and didn't hesitate when Dean yanked her up onto the countertop.

Victor is making out with Bela quite sloppily, but she doesn't seem to mind. Dean pauses in order to yell, "That's my boy!", before focusing once again on his dancing. People are laughing and cheering as he grabs Charlie's hand and twirls her around.

Everything seems to be happening dizzily fast; Dean is no longer dancing on the counter, he's vomiting in the bathroom. Next thing he knows, Benny is there, handing him another drink, and he downs it without a second thought. Then Jo is there, pushing a glass of water into his hand and telling him he's stupid, before prancing off with some guy; Dean thinks it's Andy, but he can't be sure. His head is spinning. He feels like a carousel, round and round and round and -

Dean stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His hair is dripping wet, and he pushes it back from his forehead. He prises the stopper from the sink and watches the water disappear in a swirl. He had bumped into Meg minutes before, and she took pity on him, advising him to dunk his head in some water with the promise that he would feel like a new man after. Dean figured it wouldn't hurt to listen to her.

And she's right; well, sort of. His vision has cleared, and the ache in his head has lessened slightly. He still feels like shit on legs, just a little less shittier.

He retires to the living room, collapsing onto the only available armchair. The crowd seems to have thinned only marginally since he was last in here.

He glances around at the people standing and chatting, swaying to the beat of the music. Some people are dancing outright, waving their arms in the air like - well, kind of like he was earlier, so he can't complain.

Just then, two people walk through the door. He spots the girl first. She's pretty and petite, bright red hair cascading down her back in curls. She stares around the room with wide eyes and an even wider smile, as if there's nowhere else she would rather be. She swivels around, her skirt flaring out behind her, and beams at the figure following her. Then he steps out of the shadows to stand next to her, and Dean freezes.

It wasn't love at first sight, no. Because Dean was drunk, and he didn't do love. It was more, 'Holy shit he's so hot' at first sight.

The guy - Dean decides to christen him Hot Guy - is wearing a plain grey t-shirt that is too tight to be legal. The low neckline reveals a collarbone that is practically _begging_ for a hickey. He is tall and thin, all sharp angles and chiseled features. His hair is dark, and carelessly mussed, as if he just rolled out of bed. Dean has to restrain himself from bending him over the coffee table there and then.

The girl (Dean labels her Red Head) reaches forward and intertwines her fingers with his, before pulling him into the centre of the room. Dean glares at their clasped hands as if they have done him a great injustice.

Figures. They're both gorgeous.

Red Head swings their hands together, in time with the music. Hot Guy tries to pull away, but she just laughs and pulls him closer, before twirling around. He allows himself a small smile as she sways her hips, but he doesn't try to dance with her.

After a few minutes she leans forward to yell something in his ear, before untangling their fingers and heading towards the kitchen, presumably to get drinks. Hot Guy stands awkwardly where she left him, glancing around at the people surrounding him. He looks lost. For a moment, Dean considers going over and introducing himself.

Then he starts dancing.

It's a party, people are drunk; hence, lots of people are dancing (if you count waving your arms weirdly and jumping up on down in one spot dancing). So nobody notices him.

But Dean does. He can't take his eyes off him.

Because he isn't drunk.

And he's actually _dancing_.

It's mesmerising. He moves like air, supple and elegant and _free_.

Dean isn't familiar with dance, but he knows enough to recognise this; Hot Guy is executing a perfect ballet performance in the middle of the room, and no one but him seems to notice.

And suddenly he's flying.

His arms are outstretched, his eyes shut, and he's spinning. Twirling round and round so fast, it doesn't look like he's ever going to stop. Dean doesn't blink.

But then he does stop, quite abruptly, and he seems to remember where he is. He staggers slightly as he twirls to a halt, glancing around furtively at the crowd to see if anyone is looking. Then his eyes meet Dean's.

Even from a distance, Dean can see that they're blue. _Really_ blue, deep and dark and scared as he stares at Dean. Waiting. Waiting, perhaps, for him to laugh, or insult him. But Dean just stares back, and all thoughts of 'dude, this isn't a damn chick-flick, _look away already_ ' are wiped from his mind.

Hot Guys turns slightly, as if he plans to run away, but suddenly Red Head has appeared again. She pushes a red plastic cup into his hand, and he glances down momentarily, caught by surprise. He tries to hand it back to her, but she pushes until he drinks the whole thing. He shudders and frowns, and all Dean can think is _Oh, God, please don't say it's the punch._

It's definitely the punch. The dude is a goner after three cups.

His redheaded companion engages in conversation with two other girls, while Hot Guy simply sways on the spot next to her, smiling dazedly. He looks like he just ran into a wall.

Dean realises, quite suddenly, what a creep he must look like. He hasn't took his eyes off this guy since he entered the room.

There's appreciating beauty, and then there's just plain creepy. Dean may have crossed the line. Just a little.

With a sigh, he heaves himself up from the armchair and heads for the door, brushing against Hot Guy ever so slightly as he passes. Dean doesn't look back, but he has the strangest feeling that someone is watching him.

He slips outside and lowers himself down onto the musty carpet in the hallway. A small group of people are huddled by the kitchen door, but they ignore him, and he them. He fishes in his pocket for a box of cigarettes he keeps purely for when he's bored, before drawing one out of the pack and lighting up.

He exhales, staring at the smoke as it lingers in the air before dissipating.

"You shouldn't do that."

Dean spins around, and low and behold, there's Hot Guy standing above him. There's a bright red lipstick stain on his cheek, and his hair looks, if possible, even more tousled, but he looks blissful.

"They can kill you," he slurs, gesturing to the smouldering cherry of Dean's cigarette. "Bad."

"They can kill you _slowly_ ," Dean corrects, smiling lazily. "I'll take my chances." He inhales, just to prove his point. "Only do it when I'm bored, anyway." As if that makes it better. 

"Fair enough," Hot Guy says simply. He sits down next to Dean, drawing his legs up to his chest before wrapping his arms tightly around them.

"I think I am drunk," he says quietly. Dean raises an eyebrow.

"You don't say. Well. Same."

Hot Guys hums. "It's my first time. Am I doing okay? You can tell me, you're drunk too." Dean smiles incredulously, but after a moment he nods.

Beneath the strong smell of liquor, the faint scent of lemongrass soap lingers on the other boy. It's quite a strange combination, but Dean finds himself liking it.

"You're so pretty," Hot Guy whispers, as if he's terrified to say it aloud.

Then he blinks rapidly all of a sudden and his eyes widen, as if he's just realised something that could impact the entire universe. Then he says,

"We should get married."

"Yes," Dean says slowly, staring at a crack in the fading paint of the wall opposite them. He inhales the smoke, allowing his eyes to shut as he exhales.

"We'll have 43 children," he continues, blue eyes shining beneath the fluorescent lights that line the ceiling of the hall. Dean wonders absently when someone decided to switch them on. "And one of them will be called Bumblebee because, um, why the hell not?" He pauses.

"I do like bees," he mutters.

Dean would like to know if he talks shit like this when he's sober. He probably wouldn't mind if he did.

"Okay. Well, next time we're in Vegas we'll get hitched, don't you worry," Dean assures him. "The whole shebang. I'll wear the dress."

"You know," Hot Guy says slowly, "because we're getting married and all, we probably shouldn't forget each other tomorrow."

"I couldn't forget you," Dean smirks. "You're, like, so hot, and really fucking weird. And I kind of don't want to forget you."

Hot Guy smiles, his eyes crinkling at the sides. He raises his little finger. "Pinkie promise you won't forget me?"

Dean rolls his eyes, but leans forward and links fingers with him. "Pinkie promise," he says, and he means it. For a moment, they simply stare at each other. Dean can feel his breath, warm against his skin. And then, the moment has passed, and he's pulling away.

"After we're married we'll travel the world," Dean's fiancé continues excitedly, as if nothing has happened.

"Sure," Dean says with a shrug. "You're hot. Where do you wanna go?"

"Oh, I don't know. Walmart?

"Wait." He frowns.

"I'm hot?"

"Yes," Dean says evenly. "Fucking sizzling."

"Oh," he says, fiddling with his thumbs. "Is that - is that why you were looking at me earlier? I thought maybe you thought I was weird. Because of the dancing."

"Nah, man, that was rad. I mean, when I first saw you, you know, I was like, woah. Then after you danced, I was like, _woah."_

He smiles then, a genuine smile, and Dean's heart flutters.

 _Oh_ , he thinks.

 _Oh, shit_.

"I like dancing," Hot Guy continues. "Especially ballet. Other people don't seem to like the fact that I like it, but it's not their business. I feel like a bird when I do it."

Dean examines him curiously. There's something about this dude that is so intriguing.

"Like flying?" He asks. "The bird thing, I mean. You looked like you were gonna fly earlier. Or some shit."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Or some shit."

The dude looks so serious, Dean is waiting for him to start reciting the entire script of Hamlet, or start opera singing.

"Is there apple juice ice cream?"

Maybe not.

"I think there should be, that would be nice," he murmurs. "Maybe we'll open an ice-cream parlour for all the under appreciated flavours of the world after the wedding."

"Like vodka ice-cream," Dean supplies helpfully.

"I wonder what water ice-cream would taste like," Hot Guy muses. "I mean, water doesn't taste like anything, but ice-cream has to taste like _something_. I just - I can't."

"Probably just milky water," Dean says tactfully. He glances down absentmindedly, to discover that his cigarette has burned down to the stub.

"What's your favourite colour?" Hot Guy asks (Dean should probably ask his name).

The questions don't stop there, because he literally _does not stop talking_. He barely waits for an answer before he's off, asking Dean's opinion on prime numbers and lipstick and angels.

Next thing Dean knows, he's being dragged inside because Hot Guy is 'thirsty'. He looks like the kind of guy who drinks orange juice from a sippy cup - except this is a party, a _Meg_ party, and the only drink he'll get here is just going to make him more drunk.

Which is kind of what happens.

An hour later finds Dean slumped on the kitchen floor, while Hot Guy - name still unknown - is taking shots with Meg and rambling on about Spongebob and memes.

The last thing Dean thinks, before he falls asleep sitting upright, is that he really loves Jo for making him go tonight. Because he kind of thinks he loves this dude.


	3. In Which He Calls Him, Or Something.

Dean is used to hangovers - he's dealt with some pretty crap ones in the past. But the morning after Meg's party is probably the worst he's ever felt.

He wakes to a pounding headache and parched throat. For a moment, he has no idea where he is. He sits up on the sofa too quickly; his head spins, and his stomach churns. He thinks he's going to be sick. The light shining through the open window hurts his eyes.

He looks around dazedly, and recognises Jo's living room; glossy oak floorboards, cream walls, leather sofas. A minute passes before Dean realises that Victor is collapsed on the ground next to him, passed out cold.

Just then, Jo enters the room, with two glasses of water and a packet of tablets slotted under her arm. She raises an eyebrow at Dean's pained expression, before handing him one of the glasses and the pills. He pops one from the plastic, swallows, and washes it down with the water. As he drinks, she stares at him curiously. He's waiting for her to pass a remark about how exceptionally drunk he was the previous night when she says, "Nice to see you made some friends last night."

Quite an odd thing to say. Dean lowers the glass and croaks out, "What?"

She inclines her head towards his left arm, and he glances down. Someone has scribbled 'SO GAY HA HA' on his forearm in permanent marker.

"Right," he says. "I didn't know."

"So witty," Jo says, rolling her eyes before she sits down next to him on the sofa. "They decided to ink you up when you fell asleep on the the kitchen floor. There _was_ a meticulously drawn dick on your forehead, but I spent about fifteen minutes trying to scrub it off before we came home. Ellen probably would have had seizure if she saw it."

"Mm," Dean mumbles. He massages his temples slowly, praying that the ache will subside. He doesn't recall much of the night before, and he doesn't bother asking who 'they' are. He assumes Victor, because he's a little bitch, and probably Charlie. He lowers his hands, and happens to notice a smudged band inked on his ring finger. He blinks.

"Oh my god!" He says, so loudly it hurts his ears. Jo raises her head, eyes wide, and Victor awakes with a snort and a yell of, "Who?"

"We didn't - did I sleep with my fiancé?" He blurts. Jo stares. Victor blinks rapidly, squinting at Dean as if he can't see him properly. Jo hands him the second glass of water before turning back to Dean.

It all comes rushing back to him in a swirl of iridescent colour and noise. He sees blue eyes.

"Did you take me home from the party?" He tries again. Jo raises her eyebrows. "If you're asking whether or not you got lucky last night," she says, "then, no. Which is, what, a first for you? Usually you'd be doing the walk of shame right about now."

Dean slumps back on the couch, and Jo frowns. "You could have told us you were getting married. Congratulations on the engagement, I guess."

Dean groans, and rubs his eyes. His phone buzzes suddenly, from its place on the coffee table. He practically lunges off the sofa to reach it, and Jo and Victor exchange a curious glance.

But it's just Sam, Dean's bitch of a little brother that he loves more than anything. But Sam's message makes Dean want to punch him in the face.

_When will you be home? Mom wants you at home, Dean. She says you've been going out too much lately. She's worried about you. You're never at home anymore!_

_Fuck you, Sam,_ Dean thinks _. Fuck you and your perfect punctuation and your annoying whining._

He clicks out of his messages from Sam to discover that he has another message, one from an unknown number. His heart skips a beat.

_HI ITs your fianc remembr were getting married? nd travellibg thw world and making ice crEAm you pinkie promissed mktherfucker call me or something  
C  xoxoxoxoxoxoxjsm_

Jo peeps over his shoulder. "What's that? Who is that? Your fiancé?"

"This isn't Twenty fucking Questions, Joanna," he grumbles.

There is a silence.

"Yeah, it's my fiancé."

Jo leans back on the sofa and laughs, raising her arms in the air. "Aw, Dean!" She gasps. "Did you actually propose to someone last night? This is brilliant, you're so screwed! Who is it?"

"Um," he says. "I don't know?"

Jo's sits forward, frowning.

"I didn't - he didn't tell me his name," Dean admits. "At least, he didn't at the start. And I was too drunk for the rest, so maybe he did say it, I just can't remember. And _he_ proposed. Not me. Just putting that out there."

"But you knew everyone there!" Jo says practically. "It was people from school!"

"I don't know everyone from school," he says incredulously. "I talk to, like, four people. Man, I see people in the halls _everyday_ that I've never seen before in my life until then. New people be poppin' from nowhere."

Dean doesn't know all the students at his school, but they sure know him. Dean is probably the most popular student at Lawrence High. He honestly doesn't even know _why_ ; it's not like he does anything exciting. Pretty much all he does in school is sleep, and when he's awake, he complains about life and wishes he was asleep. He assumes it's because of his dashing good looks, because he isn't really anybody.

"Call him," Jo suggests. She then realises what a great idea that actually is. "Oh my god, call him!"

Dean shakes his head vigorously. The dude probably doesn't even remember him. And if he _does_ , he's probably trying hard to forget.

"He singed it with a 'C'," Jo says, peering curiously at the text. "Who do we know who's name begins with C?"

"Kevin," Victor supplies.

"That's a K, sweetie," Jo says tiredly. "Good morning."

He shrugs, looking bleary. 

"Charlie," Dean says.

"Jesus," Jo sighs.

"Christ?" Dean says. "That's a C."

Jo smacks him around the head. "I doubt you and Charlie got engaged," she says. "I don't think it's possible to get drunk enough to forget you're a lesbian."

"I'm not a lesbian!" Dean says indignantly.

Jo inhales and counts to ten. She mustn't drop kick Dean out her living room window. Ellen wouldn't be too pleased.

"No, honey, you're not," she sighs. "But Charlie is, and she has standards. Now. Guess you'll never know who your mystery fiancé is. I..."

She trails off, and she stares blankly at the wall opposite her. "What?" Dean says. "What? What is it?"

"Castel! Casteel! Whatever the hell his name is!" Jo yells excitedly. "I bet you it was Hot New Guy! Oh, my God. Go over to his house and check, or something."

"Wh - I am not walking over to some random guy's house in the hope that he's my big gay crush!" Dean says with a frown. "Like, 'Hey! Welcome to the neighbourhood. By any chance do you engage in homosexual activities in your spare time?"

"Jesus, Dean!" Jo snaps suddenly. "He gave you his number for a freakin' reason! Why don't you grow a pair and talk to the guy instead of crying to us about it?"

With that she storms off in a huff, slamming the door behind her. Dean stares at the door, then turns to Victor, in hopes that he'll back him up. They always grumble about Jo's mood swings together.

"Can I be your best man, bro?" He asks hopefully.

Dean resists the urge to scream into the cushion. He breathes in, breathes out, stands up. The room sways. Oh, yeah; he's hungover. But he's standing now. There's no going back.

"Victor, if I never see you again, I just wanna let you know I love you, bro," Dean says solemnly. "You can be a jerk, but. I love you. No homo. Tell Jo she's a bitch. Cut Sam's hair just to piss him off. Bon voyage."

"Wait, what?" Victor says, looking baffled. "Where are you going?"

"Outside."

"Oh. Well, good luck."

He stumbles from the living room, both hands planted firmly on his head.

Jo is sitting on the bottom step of the stairs outside in the hall. When she sees him, she arches her eyebrows, but jumps up to open the door for him all the same.

"Sorry for being a bitch," she says. "But you were kind of being one too, you know."

Dean doesn't believe he was, but he doesn't want to start another argument, so he accepts her apology.

"Anyway," she says. "Knew you wouldn't be able to resist. Go get 'em, tiger."

He smiles slightly, before stepping outside. The sun is high in the sky, and he shields his eyes from the blaze. He smells the familiar scent of freshly cut grass. He feels like he's going on some great, dangerous adventure, when in reality he's just walking across the road.

Maybe the reason that Dean, Jo and Victor are such close friends is because they all live on the same street. The three have lived their all their lives, and when they were young they used to play out on the sidewalk together because their parents would make them. Dean supposes they can thank their mothers and fathers now for bringing them together.

But if Hot Guy is this new Casteel guy (weird name), then that's going to cause some problems. If Hot Guy is Dean's new neighbour, then they're going to meet again eventually, and things are going to be awkward. Might as well go and talk to him now.

He strolls down the sidewalk until he reaches Victor's house. The house next to his used to belong to a lady named Missouri Mosely. Dean remembers that she was a good friend of his fathers, and she was always round his place for tea. Some people in the neighbourhood were never too fond of her, but she always gave Dean, Jo and Victor lemon ice lollies on warm days, and hot chocolate in winter. Missouri was part of his childhood, and the street felt strangely empty when she had moved away all those years ago. Her house has been unoccupied since, until now.

A large grey hatchback is parked in the driveway. There are cardboard boxes stacked on the front porch, but otherwise the house looks the same as it always does. Then, somebody zooms around the corner on a small, hot pink scooter. It's not Hot Guy.

He sees Dean just as Dean sees him, and he skids to a halt next to the steps leading to the front door. He's short, with dark hair brushed back and honey eyes to boot. He looks to be about Dean's age, maybe older. In his hand is a cherry red lollipop, which he brandishes at Dean.

"Good afternoon," he says coolly. "Who are you?"

"Um," Dean begins. This dude manages to look threatening astride a Barbie scooter, while sucking a red lollipop. "I - I'm looking for - Castel? Casteel? At least, that's what I think his name is..."

He trails off at the guy's blank expression. Then he grins wickedly.

"Castel?" He repeats thoughtfully. "Sorry, can't say I've ever heard of the guy."

He tightens his grip on he handlebars of the scooter, and Dean can't help but ask, "You got a little sister, or a Barbie fetish?" The boy's smirk widens.

"Nah," he says. "Stole it from some chicks garden. Anyway, adios, whoever you are. Good luck on your quest. Gotta blast."

With that, he kicks off from the path, and zooms off down the pavement, singing 'I'm a Barbie girl'.

Dean thinks that that was quite possibly the weirdest encounter he has ever experienced. But it also leaves him stumped.

Both Victor and Jo had said that Hot New Guy lived here. But apparently, he doesn't. Great. Weird Barbie Dude had never even heard of the guy. So perhaps it hadn't been this Castel guy me met last night at all. As a last resort, Dean decides to call Hot Guy. Worst that happens is that he doesn't want to talk to Dean.

So Dean clicks into his messages from earlier. He presses on 'Details' next to the number, and proceeds to call him. He waits with bated breath.

He picks up after the second ring.

As the call is connecting, the door to the house swings open, to reveal Hot Guy, and Dean nearly yells.

He doesn't look hungover, but he must be, he was pissed last night. He looks even more beautiful in the daylight than he did in the darkness of the party. His eyes are shining.

His phone is in his hand, but he's speaking to someone inside that Dean can't see.

"I'm stepping outside to take a phone call," he is saying, and his low voice sends shivers along the length of Dean's spine. "Is that illegal?" Oh, the sass. Dean wonders who is at the receiving end of the saltiness.

And then he's talking down the line, talking to Dean.

"Hello?"

"Um, hi," Dean says nervously, and Hot Guy looks up in surprise as the voice echoes. His gaze locks onto Dean, and his blue eyes widen.

"Uh, you told me to call you," Dean says through the phone. "And I'm really hoping you meant it, because I really wanted to talk to you."

And he did, _God_ , he did, but he was terrified to, at the same time.

Hot Guy lowers the phone from his ear and ends the call with trembling fingers. He is silent for such a long time that Dean doesn't think he's going to speak at all.

Then he says, "What are you doing here?"

"I, uh - I live across the street," Dean admits, and Hot Guy pales. Great. It seems like he was hoping never to see Dean again after last night. Now Dean is making a complete idiot of himself.

"And, well, I didn't catch your name last night," he continues anyway. "And I knew I'd never seen you around before. So my friend saw that text you sent me and she guessed it might be you. It's - hard to explain."

Hot Guy bites his lip, and if Dean wasn't so nervous, he'd  probably be turned on.

"I didn't expect you to call," Hot Guy says after a moment. "I mean - we were both - highly intoxicated. And I didn't think you would remember anything at all."

Dean blinks.

"And by 'highly intoxicated' you mean fucking hammered, right?"

Hot Guy raises an eyebrow. Then, "Yes, I suppose so."

"Right," Dean says slowly. "Well, yeah, I was highly intoxicated, as you say. But so were you, and you remember."

Hot Guy nods silently.

"I promised you I wouldn't forget," Dean says, and he blushes petal pink. Usually at parties, he finds meaningless hookups. But this time he found something different, and it scares him. "I _pinkie_ promised. And I never break those."

"Me neither," Hot Guy says gently. He looks up at Dean, and he smiles for the first time. He looks radiant.

Just then, a voice calls from inside, and his face falls.

"I have to go," he says, taking a step back. "My mother is mad that I stayed out so late last night and - got drunk. It was my first time, I didn't know what to do. Um. I should probably go. She wouldn't be too happy if she saw me talking to you."

Dean doesn't ask why. He shifts his feet uncomfortably as he watches Hot Guy head back inside. He doesn't want him to go; there's so much he doesn't know about yet that he feels he needs to know. All the stupid, little things that make people so intriguing.

Like their name, maybe.

"Wait!" Dean calls, and he spins around on the porch to face him.

"What's your name?" Dean asks breathlessly.

"Oh," Hot Guy says with a laugh. Dean finally understands what people mean when they talk about butterflies.

"It's Castiel. Castiel Novak," he says, which elicits a frown from Dean. Just one letter in the difference from what Jo had thought it was, yet it's so much better. He loves it instantly.

"It's the name of an angel," Hot Guy - Castiel - explains, leaning on the wooden handrail by the stone steps. "The angel of Thursday."

"Oh," Dean says. "So, were you born on a Thursday or something, then?" He seriously needs to think of some better pickup lines.

"No," he says. "I was born on a Monday."

There is silence for a moment, before Dean laughs, and Castiel laughs with him. He happens to glance down, and notices the words inked on Dean's arm. His eyes widen, and he looks behind him before turning to Dean again.

"Don't let her see that!" He hisses, jerking his head at the writing. Dean glances down at his arm, confused.

"Wait, what?" He says, baffled. "Don't let who see it? Your mom?"

Castiel nods furtively.

"Why?" Dean asks coldly, and his eyes harden. "Has she got a problem with me?"

"Not _you_ ," Castiel says, rolling his eyes. "She doesn't know who you are. Just - un, gay people, in general."

Dean narrows his eyes. He doesn't care that he doesn't really know this dude, he's going to roast his mother. But Castiel beats him to it.

"She a horrible old bitch, I know," he says quickly. "She believes that we should live by the bible, and all that. That's why she wasn't so happy I came home drunk last night. Then she grounded me because I said, "Fuck off, Jesus was seventeen once, he definitely got turnt." Obviously if I was sober I would _never_ \- "

"But you weren't," Dean says, with a laugh. 

"Yeah," he says quietly. "So, um, I'm grounded, and I probably won't be able to see you anytime soon."

"Okay," Dean says. "But what about your mom? I mean, does she know..."

"What?" Castiel says sharply.

Dean hesitates. Castiel isn't straight, and he knows that. He literally proposed to him the night before. But he was drunk. Maybe he isn't as open with himself as Dean is. 

"Um, nothing," Dean says hastily. "Just, you know. She's a bit controlling.

"I'm fine," Castiel says drily.

"What, you don't need a knight in shinning armour to come and rescue you?" Dean asks, smirking.

"Not particularly," Castiel replies. "I am my own knight."

"Fair enough," Dean says.

Castiel's mother calls from within again, and he sighs. "I really have to go now. It was nice meeting you sober."

"You too," Dean says. "See you around, Novak."

Castiel opens his mouth to speak, but Dean is two steps ahead of him.

"Winchester. Dean Winchester."

"Alright, Mister Bond," Castiel says. But then he says, "Dean," as if he's trying it out, and Dean exhales shakily. It's like his name was meant just for Castiel to say in his low voice.

He watches as Castiel turns and opens the door. Before he steps inside, he looks back one more time. Their eyes meet, and everything falls into place.

As the door is closing, Dean finds himself counting his lucky stars that a bright angel like Castiel Novak fell to earth right next to a sinner like him.


	4. In Which They Are 'Just Friends'.

Dean doesn't call him again.

Why?

Because he's a coward. He wants to, of course he wants to. But he's afraid. Afraid of what he's feeling.

When he went to see Castiel after the party the week before, he was afraid too. Except he was a little more hungover than afraid, and so he had the kind of confidence he would never usually have.

Looking back on it now, Dean realises that going to see Castiel was probably the worst idea ever. He doesn't want him getting the wrong idea; there is nothing in this for him.

Dean isn't looking for a relationship, because he doesn't do them. He does drunken hookups with nameless people. Forgettable people.

But forgettable is something Castiel isn't.

Dean can't forget him. He promised he wouldn't forget, although he wishes he could, but he can't. There's something about Castiel that makes him so different to anyone else Dean has ever met. And it's killing him, because he doesn't understand it.

Castiel is just some random guy he met at a party; just a stranger. Nothing happened between them, so there's no reason to call him, really. Except there is.

Because Dean has this _feeling_. He has this feeling like something was meant to happen with them from the beginning. He isn't very good at describing it, and he isn't very good at expressing his emotions. But he knows that with Castiel, he kind of wants to figure it out.

He gets halfway down the stairs when he realises this is a bad idea.

Who is he kidding? How could Dean Winchester, master of fucking up, ever land a date with someone like Castiel Novak? Someone as vibrant and beautiful as Castiel wouldn't want anything to do with Dean. Yeah, Dean is gorgeous and funny and flirtatious, but it's all an illusion. Beneath it all, he's nothing. Just some stupid kid with an undeserved reputation.

Dean is slouching back up the stairs to his room when he thinks, _fuck that! I'm hot. I could totally tap that._ He swivels around, and begins to bound down the stairs again, when he stops to reconsider.

"What are you doing?"

His little brother Sam is hovering by the foot of the stairs, looking up at Dean suspiciously.

"Nothing!" Dean says sharply. "Just... Exercising."

"Of course," Sam says blankly. "No one exercises on the stairs Dean. Especially not you, because you _don't_ exercise." "I've turned over a new leaf," Dean says breezily. "New years resolution."

"It's June."

"Shut up, dickbag."

Sam scoffs. "I'm getting to old for this, Dean. I'm not stooping that low. Anyway, I'm going to Kevin's. Have fun 'exercising'."

"You're like, twelve, you drama queen," Dean yells after Sam's retreating back. "Anyway, _I'd_ be the one stooping, squirt!"

The door slams shut behind Sam. Dean sighs. Adolescents.

Then Sam is shouting in the window, "I'm fourteen, you douche! And I just haven't hit my growth spurt yet!"

"Fuck off," Dean snaps. "I'm going through a midlife crisis."

Sam obliges, and disappears. Yeah, he can be an annoying little shit sometimes, but Dean really loves him.

Just then Mary appears, peeping around the doorway to the kitchen. _Jesus_ , Dean thinks. _Is this a family reunion?_ Yeah, they live in the same house, but, _c'mon_.

"Dean?" Mary says, frowning. "Were you swearing at Sammy just now?" "No," Dean replies innocently. "Of course not. How could you think I would do something like that?" Mary rolls her eyes. She tends to do that a lot around Dean.

Dean hops lightly down the rest of the steps until he's standing opposite her. "I'm going out, Mom. See you later."

If Castiel turns him down, well. At least he tried. He can't just let this go. He can't let Castiel fade into nothing but a _what if._

"Dean..." Mary begins. "It's getting late, your father will be home from work soon."

"Sam's gone to his dorky little friends!" Dean argued petulantly. "Why can't I go?"

"Well, it's just you've been going out a lot recently," Mary says softly. "I know you only ever go to Jo or Victor's house, but it would be nice if you spent some time with your family. I feel like I never see you anymore, sweetie. I don't want it to be like that."

Dean avoids her gaze, feeling slightly guilty. His mom doesn't know about the parties, and him getting drunk almost every weekend. If his parents ever found out, they would ground him for, like, twelve years. And yeah, he knows he shouldn't be doing it, but he's young and he's stupid and he's free.

"I'm just going to Victor's new neighbours," he says truthfully. "You know, to welcome them to the neighbourhood. I just never got the chance to go earlier."

Mary's eyes brighten. "Oh, the Novaks? I heard they moved into Missouri's old place, and I'm so glad. I always thought no one would live in that house again, and it would have been such a shame."

"Oh God, yeah," Dean says. "Terrible. Can I go now? Please?"

Mary nods. "Alright. Just - don't be long, okay? Your father won't be too happy if you stay out too long after dark again, you know."

He knows.

He smiles at his mother, before stepping past her and out the door without another word.

Dusk is falling. The mauve sky is streaked with accents of peach and pale orange, and the first stars are starting to appear. The sun is but a sliver of scarlet on the horizon.

He saunters down the path and out of the gate, onto the sidewalk. As he walks, he stuffs his clenched fists into the pockets of his grey sweatpants. As cool and casual as he may seem, Dean is nervous. Terrified.

Of Castiel. Of his mother. Of what he's feeling.

And he hates himself for it. Castiel shouldn't be affecting him in this way - he's practically a stranger. But ever since he left his house yesterday, ever since that face got a name, all Dean can think of is his eyes, and how they brightened when Dean made him laugh.

Of course, he would never admit that to anyone _ever_ , because he's a strong, independent man unaffected by human emotions. Sometimes. Kind of.

As he's passing Victor's house, Victor himself pops out his bedroom window on the first floor, leaning precariously close to the edge.

"Hey," he calls. Dean peers up. Victor waves his apple juice box at him. "Wanna come in so I can beat your ass at Mario Kart so bad you have to migrate to China?" He asks. Dean huffs out a laugh.

"Sorry, no can do, bro," he says. "I'm being neighbourly. Gotta call in to welcome the new people to the neighbourhood."

"Fair enough," Victor says. "You and Jo are missing out on a lot, though. Can't believe she'd rather go to work than play Mario Kart." "Missing out on what?" Dean asks disbelievingly. "You screaming abuse at Toad and throwing the remote out the window? I'll pass, thanks."

"Fucking mushroom-head," Victor grumbles as he retreats inside. "Dude's, like, three, who gave him a freaking license?"

Dean snorts, before waving goodbye and jogging across the grass to Castiel's house. He hears someone call from behind, and he turns to see that Victor is leaning out the window again.

"Casteel!" He's yelling. "You're totally going over there to screw Hot New Guy! You jerk, you should've told me you found out he was your mystery man!"

"It's Cast _iel_!" Is all Dean shouts back, before hopping lightly up the steps to the front door. He hears Victor's window slam shut with a bang behind him.

Steeling himself, he reaches out to knock on the door, but stops. What is he going to say to Castiel? He doesn't know. And what if someone else answers the door? Like Castiel's crazy mother? Dean bites his lip, and is considering walking away then, but before he can move, the door swings open.

There is a woman standing at the threshold. Yet at the same time, she doesn't seem like _just_ a woman. She towers over Dean, tall, intimidating, and emanating pure power. Her blonde hair is pulled back from her high forehead, into a tight ponytail at the base of her neck. She reminds Dean of a marble statue; cold, sharp, precise. She is dressed in a perfectly pressed navy dress suit, equipped with black heels.

Dean immediately takes a step back.

She scrutinises him with clear blue eyes, as if she is taking in his worth. Dean is speechless.

He avoids making direct eye contact with her, instead choosing to gaze determinedly at the stained glass fixed on the front door.

"Who are you?" She demands  imperiously. Dean assumes she must have seen him dawdling by the door, and came out just to yell at him.

Dean hesitates only a moment before beginning his Oscar winning performance.

"Good morning, ma'am," Dean says politely, presenting her with his most charming smile he reserves solely for lying. "My name is Dean, Dean Winchester. I live just down the street there. I'd just like to welcome you to the neighbourhood, I'm sure you'll love it here. Everybody is wonderful, and of course, we're a tight-knit community of devout Christians."

She perks up immediately.

Oh God, why did he say _that? Why?_

Just then, Castiel appears, stumbling down the stairs and gesticulating madly for Dean to run, now. His mother turns, distracted by the sudden commotion. She scowls at Castiel, who immediately rearranges his features into a dutiful expression.

"Have you heard of the Harvelles?" Dean asks, stifling a laugh. "No, I can't say I have," she says, glancing around at Castiel again, who flashes her a winning smile.

"Well, Ellen Harvelle and her daughter Joanna Beth are great friends of my family," Dean explains. "They're both Christian activists in the area, and they recently set up a Christian Youth Movement in the local hall."

Castiel buries his face in his hands.

Dean continues, undeterred. "I was just wondering if your family would be interested in joining? We're recruiting new members, and today we are helping with the gardening outside the church. I just thought it would be a lovely way to introduce you to some of the people in the area." 

She softens instantly, turning once again to face her son.

"Well, Castiel aren't you lucky this lovely young boy came round just in time?" She says. "This is the perfect opportunity for you to repent and recompense for your sins."

"Very lucky," he says meekly.   

"I suppose you can go along then," she says. "Although it is getting late. Don't be too long. And maybe next time you're brothers can go with you."

Castiel steps past her, avoiding Dean's gaze. "Thank you, Mr. Winchester," his mother says as they begin to make their way down the steps. "I'm so glad there is such respectable young Christian boys like you in this neighbourhood. If only some people were more like you."

Dean hates her.

She steps back inside and shuts the door with a snap. For a moment, they stand still, in silence. Then Castiel tilts his head to the side, looking remarkably like a lost puppy. He inspects Dean with narrow eyes, and for quite some time he stays like that, not uttering a word. Then he says,

"You are one smart bastard."

Dean sighs and places a hand on his hip. For a fleeting moment, he wishes he had long hair that he could flip over his shoulder dramatically. Maybe he should stop nagging Sam to get his cut. "I get that a lot," he says.

Castiel just looks at him. _Really_ looks at him, like he's seeing something different, something _more_ , than he didn't see the first time. Dean notes absently that his eyes crinkle at the side when he smiles. They are deep and dark, but when he smiles, they seem to glow.

Dean clears his throat. "Come on," he says. "We're actually going to Harvelle's. My friend Jo's mom actually owns a diner in town." He hesitates for a fraction of a second. "We're going on a date."

"Sucks," Castiel grumbles. "For a moment there I thought I was the luckiest guy on the planet; my first date, at the Christian Youth Movement Club! Cheers for ruining my dreams, Dean. _A diner_. How very cliché of you."

Dean rolls his eyes and grabs his elbow, steering him in the right direction. He tries not to focus on the fact that this is Castiel's first date.

"This isn't - this is like, a friend-date, right?" Castiel asks uncertainly after a minute. "Um," Dean says. _No_.

"It's a whatever-you-want-it-to-be date," he says. That's a lie.

"Okay," Castiel say. "It's a friend-date. So it doesn't _really_ count as my first date."

Right.

Silence falls as they begin to walk, and Dean hurries to break it. He doesn't want things to be awkward with him. Well, except they already are, because it seems there's a bit of a Romeo-Rosaline situation going on here. But before he can utter a single word, Castiel is speaking.

"You didn't call," he says matter-of-factly.

"I didn't," Dean says. "And I'm really sorry."

"It's okay," he says. "I didn't expect you to."

Dean frowns at him. "What? Why?"

He shrugs. "I'm just - me. I'm nothing special."

Dean falls silent. Castiel speaks as if he's stating a known fact. He even sounds surprised that Dean genuinely wanted to see him again, and Dean doesn't know how to reply to that. Why has he got such a low opinion of himself?

Yeah, so maybe Dean doesn't know the guy so well. But he _wants_ to. And he's pretty sure that getting to know Castiel will be worth his time. Even if it's as just friends.

Unfortunately, Dean isn't so great at expressing emotion though, so all he says is, "Shut up, I like you, you dork."

It seems to suffice. At least, Dean hopes so, because Castiel doesn't say anything.

He clears his throat. "So, um. You're not grounded anymore?"

"I don't know," Castiel admits. "I mean, I was, until now. Maybe I'm only allowed out if it's to do something worthwhile? Well, or so she thinks. Not that this isn't worthwhile, but, you know. If she knew I wasn't actually going to Christian Youth Club..."

He breaks off. Dean feels like maybe they should talk about this more, but he doesn't want to pry. Instead he asks, "So, uh - you have brothers?"

"Oh, yeah," Castiel replies gloomily. "Four, unfortunately. Two older, two younger. Plus a sister. Total nightmare to live with."

"Tell me about it," Dean says, glancing left and right as they cross the street. "I have a younger brother, Sammy. What a dork." He pauses to frown. "Hey, wait, I think I might have met one of your brothers, when I went to your place. Told me he didn't know who you were, and I - oh, yeah. I pronounced your name wrong, so. Guess it was his idea of a joke. He was on a Barbie scooter. I didn't know whether to laugh or run far away."

"That's Gabriel," Castiel says with a small smile. "He thinks he's hilarious, but you just have to learn to ignore him. Which is difficult, because he never goes away, or shuts up, for that matter. He likes to call himself 'The Trickster'. Total drama queen."

They turn right, and now they are out of the suburbs and entering the city.  Dean leads Castiel towards the Roadhouse diner, which is situated just by the edge of their neighbourhood, and the border of the city.

Dean has been going to the Roadhouse for as long as he can remember. Ellen Harvelle, Jo's mother, is an old friend of his fathers, so the Winchesters were always welcome there. When Dean first became friends with Jo, he started to go there more often. He, Jo and Victor had their own special booth, where Ellen would serve them chocolate sundaes and they would do their homework. All these years later, they still sit in the same booth, and the Roadhouse has become more of a second home than just a restaurant. The people there are family.

Dean holds the door for Castiel before stepping inside himself. He sighs, inhaling the familiar scent of salt and fries, plus the rather unique, underlying aroma of honeysuckle.

On each window, opposite every booth, stands a ceramic vase with honeysuckle. It doesn't stop at the flowers. Ellen and Jo do everything they can to make the diner more of a home than anything else. The windows are decorated with patterned net curtains, and the booths are lined with plump, floral cushions. Nailed to the walls are watercolour paintings of flowers and countryside scenery, plus charcoal and pencil drawings. The Roadhouse has a certain rustic feel to it, with dark wood flooring and terra cotta walls. Dean loves every inch of it. It feels like home.

Castiel stands by the door, gazing around the diner in awe. Dean smiles, before gently tugging him by the sleeve of his grey button-down to the free corner booth, where he always sits with Jo and Victor.

"Welcome to the Roadhouse," he says, as he slides into his usual seat. Castiel sits opposite him, and continues to inspect the room.

"I love it," he says. "The theme, the colours, the paintings, everything." "Well, the food is just as good," Dean tells him, and he reaches for the laminated menus left on the table. Castiel follows suit.

After a few minutes, Jo appears by their table. She's wearing a white apron, and a tag bearing her name is pinned onto her black polo shirt. She is smirking so wide that Dean legitimately considers crawling under the table and just staying there. Like, forever.

"Hello, Dean," she says, all the while grinning manically. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your _friend_ here?"

"Jo, this is Castiel," Dean grimaces. "Castiel, Jo."

Castiel smiles warmly at Jo, and she returns it.

"He's new in town - Victor's new neighbour," Dean explains.

"And?" Jo says. "You're, what? Showing him the sights?"

"Couldn't have put it better myself," Castiel says cheerfully, earning himself an appraising look from Jo. She stands in silence for a few moments, hand on hip, as she examines him. Castiel gazes back determinedly.

"Of course," Jo says slyly. "Just showing him around town, are you, Dean? A private tour? How very _friendly_ of you."

Dean is seriously considering revoking his 'no hitting girls' policy.

"Jo, we'd like to order now, please," he says through gritted teeth. Of course, he would never actually hit Jo, because she is one of his best friends. And if he did, she'd take him down.

"Mm," she says slyly, clicking her pen against her leg. "I wish I had a _friend_ like Castiel."

"Well, Jesus, what are you waiting for?" Castiel interrupts abruptly. "For us start crying and bow down to you, or something, just because you know we're not here as _just friends_? Do you want a round of applause for figuring it out? A standing ovation? I mean, it's not like anyone else with eyes noticed. Congratulations. Can we order now?"

Both Jo and Dean gape at Castiel as if he just admitted he has an ET fetish. Then Jo bursts out laughing, throwing her head back, while Dean simply continues to stare unblinkingly, mouth agape.

Jo wipes tears of mirth from her eyes, and casts Castiel an approving glance. "He's a keeper, Dean," she says. "Jesus, this place is salty enough as it is."

"So, what can I get you?"

Castiel simply orders a strawberry milkshake. It takes a few tries, but Dean also eventually places his order, his green eyes never leaving Castiel's blue ones. Jo winks before sashaying away behind the counter.

"I thought we _were_ here as just friends," Dean mumbles after a minute.  "Maybe," is all Castiel says.

"So," he continues, after a short pause, and he leans forward to place his elbows on the cool surface of the table. "Dean Winchester. I know that you're a smart ass, and you're probably the first and last person to ever con my mother like that. I know you have a little brother called Sammy, and a best friend called Jo. I know you're an easily persuaded drunk. I know you smoke. I know you're funny, and I know you never break your pinkie promises, and I know you like me, but why, well, that I don't know. But I also know that I want to know you _more_. So tell me."

Dean blinks. He doesn't think anybody has ever asked him to talk about himself, _ever_ , and he doesn't exactly know what to say. So he starts with the basics, because he doesn't know where else to start.

"I'm Dean Winchester," he says. "I'm an Aquarius." He considers adding something quirky, for effect, but he doesn't want to throw Castiel off. He can always laugh at his own jokes.

"Uh, I'm seventeen. Live with my mom, dad and my little brother Sam, though I call him Sammy just to piss him off, because he hates it. Lately I've been helping him with his stupid tween girl troubles, but I guess it's kind of funny. He - um, sorry, okay. Me stuff. Uh, I like cars. Especially my own baby; 1967 Chevrolet Impala. She was my dad's, but he gave her to me on my sixteenth. Restored her myself mostly, with help from my dad and my Uncle Bobby. Bobby isn't actually my real uncle, just a friend of my dad's. He's more like a second father, really.

"My dad's a lawyer. He was a mechanic when he was younger, but his father, my grandfather, told him to quit. I know he sounds like a dick, but he did it for my dad. My grandfather was poor when he was growing up, and he just wanted my dad to have the kind of life he never had. I don't really remember him now, but I used to visit him when I was a little kid. Um, my dad still rebuilds cars, but it's more of a hobby than a job now. Being a lawyer pays well, so I guess we have my granddad to thank for that."

This is the hard bit. For Dean, anyway. It's the reason he's been avoiding his own home lately.

"Sammy wants to follow in my dad's footsteps," he says. "Be a lawyer. It's something he's always wanted. My dad wants me to be one too, but I... It's not really for me, you know? Sam is the good little soldier, and I'm just a waste of time because I don't want other people to live my life for me. At least, that's what he thinks."

"What do you want to do?" Castiel asks quietly. Dean looks up. For a fleeting moment, he had almost forgotten entirely that Castiel was here, actually listening to what he had to say.

"I, uh, I paint," Dean admits. "And I draw. And I love it, it's what I want to do. Um, I did these." He gestures to the paintings and drawings on the walls, and flushes crimson. He's never really told anyone outside his family about his love for art.

"Jesus, how long does it take to make a milkshake? I'll have told you my whole life story before we get them," he says, attempting to make a joke, but Castiel isn't listening.

"You painted these?" He says, staring around the diner in awe. "Dean - these are absolutely amazing. How can your father possibly stop you from being an artist? You're so talented."

His gaze lands on the picture opposite their booth. It is a charcoal drawing depicting a young girl, hear head turned slightly to the right as she stares into the distance. Natural tight black curls frame her heart-shaped face. It is simple, but beautiful and elegant. Castiel can't stop staring.

Dean clears his throat. "She - that's Cassie. Cassie Robinson."

Castiel turns to face Dean. "She's real? Who is she?"

"My first girlfriend," Dean says, with a small smile. Great. He really, _really_ does not want to talk about ex-girlfriends right now. Or ever, for that matter.

But then Jo, wondrous, amazing, beautiful Jo, arrives with their orders. She places the milkshakes on the table before immediately whisking away, barely pausing to flash them another wink.

Dean sighs with relief, and reaches for his chocolate milkshake. Not only does the arrival of the milkshakes prove as a distraction from the whole Cassie conversation, it also means, well, milkshakes.

"Alright," Castiel says, as he too reaches forward for his glass. "I won't ask you about this Cassie just yet. I know people don't like discussing their exes, even to friends." He arches an eyebrow, and Dean imitates him.

"Alright," he says. "There's not much to tell, anyway." Castiel just hums in response.

"So," Dean says. He fidgets with the striped red and white straw in his milkshake. "Castiel Novak. I know that you're unexpectedly sassy, and you're probably the first and last person to ever sass Jo Harvelle like that. I know you have an older brother called Gabriel, and three other brothers, two younger, one older, plus a sister. You're a crazy drunk, and you're my fiancé. I know you love to dance, and you're kind of amazing at it. I also know you're weird as hell, and I know you never break your pinkie promises either, and I bet you like me too, you're just afraid to admit it. But I also know that I want to know you more, too. So tell me your story."

Castiel laughs. "You're confident."

Dean simply smirks, and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

"Alright," he sighs. "I'm Castiel Novak. I'm a Leo. I'm sixteen, and I live with my mother, my brothers Gabriel, Michael, Balthazar and Lucifer, and my sister Anna - "

"You have a brother called Lucifer?" Dean asks, eyes wide.

"Yes."

"You have a brother named after Satan? Like, the actual _Satan_? The Devil?"

"Yes."

"Holy shit! Why?"

Castiel rolls his eyes. "Lucifer was an angel before he fell, Dean. He was the most beautiful of all angels, actually. The Morning Star."

"And?" Dean says.

"We're all named after angels, you idiot," Castiel says exasperatedly, though he can't help but smile. "And my mother believes that pretending Lucifer wasn't the most beautiful of all angels before the fall is a sin. Betraying your faith, and all that. Lucifer was God's favourite, so. I have a brother called Lucifer."

"Ironic," Dean says drily. "She doesn't like people glossing over the ugly parts of the bible and pretending they don't exist, yet she does it with people."

Castiel huffs out a laugh. "Yes, that's my darling mother for you. Let's gloss over _her_ for now."

"Okay," he continues. "So. Anna's real name is Anael, but she choses to go by Anna. She's actually my cousin, but she's more of a sister. Her parents died when she was young, and my mother became her legal guardian. Anna's family weren't quite as religious as my mother is, but they still kept the whole angel name tradition. She, uh, brought me to that party. Well, _made_ me go to that party. I suppose you saw her."

Ah, yes. The hot redhead. Castiel's family is blessed.

"I can relate to the whole 'parent living your life for you' thing. My mother has decided we would all make good little priests, and Anna a stellar nun. My eldest brother Michael is a big believer in doing what's right, and following orders. He's the model son. Gabriel is next, and he, well. You've met him. I dread to think what would happen if _he_ ever became a priest. Then there's me, but we always leave the best till last. Lucifer couldn't be a priest if he tried. He kind of lives up to his name, he's quite rebellious. He's not a bad kid, though. Balthazar wouldn't last a day as a priest. Anna would probably get kicked out of the convent for chopping her habit up to her thighs.

"And me. Well, I'm an abomination. I like to dance, and according to my mother dancing is for girls. She hates me for doing what I love. She has forbidden me from dancing, actually, because apparently I'll give the family a bad name. I've been on receiving end of some rather cutting insults, but we won't mention them. I'm not the only child who refuses to live my life the way she orders, but I'm definitely her least favourite."

Castiel stops, and avoids looking at Dean, instead focusing entirely on the pink froth at the end of his glass.

"Fuck her," Dean says loudly, and Castiel shoots up, almost cricking his neck.

"Fuck my dad too," Dean says. "Fuck 'em both. We can do whatever we want, and they don't get to chose for us. I don't want to make a decision I'll regret later. We've got one shot at this; I'm not ruining it, and no one else is ruining it for me. No one's gonna ruin it for you either, okay Cas? You dance, I paint, and the world will keep on turning."

Castiel meets his gaze. His smile is warm, and his eyes are shining. Dean blushes pink, but he doesn't look away.

"Did you - did you just call me Cas?" Castiel asks after a pause.

"Um," Dean says. "Yeah, yeah, I did. Is that alright?"

"Yes," Castiel says after a moment. "I guess. I mean, no one has ever called me that before. It's - I like it. Yeah."

Dean likes it too. So it sticks.

And so Castiel becomes Cas that night. But his name isn't the only thing that changes.

Everything changes, ever so slightly. He sees Dean differently. He opens up. When Castiel becomes Cas, he isn't a stranger anymore.

Cas tells Dean the little things. His odd love for vanilla scented candles. How he shamelessly adores the smell of new books. How he loves the Beatles, and always sings along, even though he probably isn't the best at singing. He makes chocolate chip pancakes on dark mornings just to brighten his day, and he can never drink enough tea. And dancing. He dances in the morning. He dances throughout the day. He dances as the sun sets. He dances in the kitchen at midnight.

With Cas comes a story. It's simple, but it's beautiful.

They talk until Ellen comes over to their table and tells them that they're locking up soon. She glances at Dean before she walks back to the counter, and her brown eyes sparkle, as if she knows something he doesn't. But she's wrong; he knows it too.

They head outside, and this time Cas holds the door for Dean. The inky sky is scattered with stars, pinpricks of silver light in an ocean of black. The streetlights lining the sidewalk are ablaze, casting a dull orange glow over the pavement. Dean vaguely remembers his mother warning him to come home early. Whoops.

A group of young girls stumble by, clutching each other and giggling uncontrollably. Cas watches them pass in bemusement. Dean just shakes his head slightly before reaching out and grasping Cas' sleeve to tug him in the right direction.

Three times. He has done that three times tonight. Dean doesn't realise he's doing it, it's just a habit he has. He grows restless very easily; he finds it difficult to sit still for a long period of time without moving or touching something. When he's with Jo, he plays with her hair. She allows him, because she understands it's just a nervous habit of his. When he's with Victor, he always unfastens his shoe laces and ties them again.

But he realises, when it's Cas. Because even the slightest touch is enough to make him shiver.

They walk in a comfortable silence. Cas looks at the stars, and Dean looks at him.

They reach Cas' house far too soon. Dean follows him up the steps to the front door. Cas leans forward to rest his elbows on the porch railing, and Dean stands on the step below him.

He is acutely aware of just how close they are.

"Dean," Cas says slowly. "Yeah?" Dean replies. His voice is oddly high.

"Dean," Cas says again, and Dean's heart flutters.

"This can't happen, you know," Cas says softly. His eyes are shining in the dark, and Dean can't look away.

"What?" He says. "What can't happen?" He knows.

"Us," Cas whispers. He leans closer.

"Us. Me and You. It just can't happen. I know you like me, but I don't know why. And I know _I_ like _you_ , and I know why, too. There's so many reasons, and you deserve to know them all. But I also know that I _can't_ like you, as much as I want to. I don't want to like you. But I do, because - because I do. Because you're you. And liking you terrifies me. But this is just one of those things that could never work, so there's no point pretending. We just have to let go of it now, before things get worse. Or better, which would be worse."

"Why?" Dean asks. It doesn't sound like his voice.

Dean isn't used to being rejected. If, by some miracle, it happens, he just brushes it off, acts like he wasn't all that interested anyway. It's what he had planned to do, if tonight went wrong. But he can't bring himself to pretend that he doesn't care about Cas.

He told himself he wasn't interested in a relationship anyway. Just a bit of fun. But he realises now that Cas could never be just a one time thing. And that scares him, because he's never wanted more before.

Cas sighs, and places his chin in his palm. He tilts his head slightly, and stares down at Dean with sad, wide eyes.

"Why? Me," he says quietly. "You. My family. Life."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean frowns.

Cas sighs again. "Me. I'm not - I'm not really anybody. How could someone like me make someone like you happy? My life is a mess. My past is a disaster. I hate to think about what my future holds. My family is crazy, and they hate me. Imagine if they knew I was gay? I don't want to imagine."

He huffs out a laugh. "Look at me, defying all your gay stereotypes. I'm gay, I dance, I'm sensitive, I'm afraid of what people will think. I'm a mess, Dean. You're the first person I've ever told, and even telling you was hard. I acted like I wasn't different, even though you already knew. But I still did it, because I'm scared. I'm scared because you're the first person who ever showed any interest in me, and I don't know why. Maybe it's your idea of a joke. I mean, why me? What am I?"

"Don't say that," Dean says roughly. He wants to say so much more, but he can't. "Don't say that about yourself."

"And you," Cas says, shaking his head. "Look at you. You're beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful. Your family loves you. Your father may be difficult now, but he'll get past that. Because he loves you, and it's clear to me you love him too. You have great friends, a great life. I asked about you. At the party, and after. Everyone had so much to say about Dean Winchester; about how gorgeous you were, how popular, how funny. You're the most popular kid at school, apparently. Someone like you, with someone like me, it just doesn't work.

"And not just because of the social statuses. But, it's just - if this ever happened, what next? Nothing is next, because it wouldn't go anywhere. There's never going to be anything more in this for either of us. I mean, we wouldn't - "

He breaks off. Dean can't speak.

"My life is a mess," Cas says. "And I don't want to bring that on you, because you and me would never work. That's all I'm saying."

Dean is speechless for a long, long time. The silence is deafening.

"I think we should try," he whispers then. "We might get lucky."

Cas laughs.

He stops suddenly, and takes a step back.

"I'm sorry," he says. "But I'm - I'm not _free_ , Dean. I wish things were different."

"So do I," Dean says.

It's not what he wants to say. He wants to yell. He wants to shout at Cas for being so selfish. He wants to tell him to take the chance, because they might get lucky and find something beautiful. Because Dean doesn't give a shit about Castiel's family, or what he's done in the past. He likes Cas, he likes him a lot, and he's willing to take a risk with him. But how can he, if Cas doesn't believe he's worth it?

Cas runs a hand through his dark hair. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to Dean's forehead ever so gently. Before Dean can register what happened, he's gone, disappearing inside without another word.

Dean stands on the porch for quite some time afterwards.

Later, he walks home alone in the dark. He feels strangely empty.


End file.
